When it Rains, it Volneys
by The Frogness
Summary: Numair said in the 4th book of the Immortals series that he got Volney Rain to paint him a portrait of Daine. Ever wonder how exactly that conversation might've gone? Oh. Well, I did. Fluff, one sided DaineNumair and strangeness. One shot, rr!


When it Rains it Volneys 

Volney looked up into the master's impassive face. Although many might have been cowed by the expression, the court artist had known Numair Salmalin far too long to scurry away meekly. Instead he stood from his divan, fixing the much taller man with an impassive stare of his own, before going over to an easel and scratching absently at the drying paint.

"A portrait, do you say? Of your mage-girl?" His voice was bored and uninterested, but the moment Numair had appeared on his doorstep the artists well earned gossip ears had been twitching, his educated brain instantly crammed with ideas and theories, none of them to be heard by a younger audience.

"Yes, Volney, a portrait." The master sounded slightly anxious and snappish, not seating himself even when he was invited to, and Volney chanced a quick grin behind a mixing pallet.

"Of our dear young Veralidaine, do you say? How nice." Volney started to grin as he watched his friends cheeks turn pink, and the master attempted to fix him with a glare.

"None of that," he warned, dark eyes frowning at the much shorter man, patience wearing thin as the artist only smirked at him, coiling his short brown goatee around one stubby finger.

"None of what?" he asked innocently, trying hard not to snigger as Numairs hands clenched and unclenched, as though the man were ready to turn him into any variety of trees at any moment.

"None of your hidden implications."

"Hidden implications? My dear Numair, I haven't the foggiest to what it is you are talking about."

"What you're insinuating about my motives for the portrait."

"Your motives for the portrait?" Volney fluttered his lashes coquettishly at the master, knowing that to be a patronizing git about it would do far more to annoy his friend than to start yelling about said motives. "I didn't know one needed motives for such a thing, but then I'm old and outdated."

"But," the artist continued before Numair could open his mouth to agree, "I suppose it is an odd thing for a teacher to want a portrait of his student, now that you mention it. But oh, not me, no, my dear friend Numair I am open-minded, and immovable by the gossip of court."

For a moment it seemed as if Numair was going to explode, and Volney watched the muscle on the mans neck twitch with vast amusement, before time froze for a moment and the air went still. Then, like the air being let slowly out of a balloon, time restarted and the air, along with the tall man flopped.

Walking over, Volney patted his friend on the knee with a look of "there there".

"There there," he said, now schooling his face into one of sympathy rather than mockery, and Numair just sighed.

"How long have you known?" he asked wearily.

"Known what?"

"Volney," he growled in warning. "You have me deflated on your gaudy little couch covered in paint spots that are probably still wet and will stick to my robes all day. Do. Not. Push. It."

The other man pouted slightly, looking put upon as he seated himself across from his friend. "Fine, fine," he sighed. "How long have I known about you and Daine then? Hm." He twirled his goatee for a moment, crossing one leg over the other as if in serious thought.

"Probably since the first time you brought your darling magelet to meet me."

"But that's impossible!" Numair sat up bolt right, staring at his friend in outrage. "She was but a child then," he insisted. "And I loved her, but I wasn't in love with her!"

Volney smirked again, enjoying every minute of his friend's agony. "True, true," he nodded. "Well, if it weren't the moment I first saw you both together, then it must have been just now, when you admitted it to me."

For a moment Numairs mouth worked just like a fish out of water, all open and moving but not looking as if it were doing anything useful. Then he just threw his hands in the air and slumped back onto the dirty couch.

"Oh, the marvelous wit of you," he said sullenly, wishing he literally could just wipe the smile off his friends face. "But will you do it or not?"

"Do what?"

"Volney!"

"Fine, of course I'll do it. But may I ask why you need a picture, when the girl all but lives with you every day?" Here he slanted the master a sly glance. "Or is that your memory needs a re-boost when you think of her, late at night."

"Volney!" Numair stood, eyes flashing dangerously and his pinks glowing slightly pink.

Realizing that he had reached the end of the rope Volney stood, grabbing his friend by the shoulders gently and guiding him to sit back down.

"Relax Numair, relax. I meant it only in jest, I care for our young friend nearly as much a you do."

Somewhat calmed, Numair crossed his arms, still managing a look of pure annoyance at his friend. "It wasn't a funny joke, Volney."

"No." Volney looked at the other man, blue eyes serious. "But there was a time where you would have laughed and later hung me upside down for it. I've never seen you get quite so upset about anything regarding the young one."

Numair scratched at his tunic, where he had somehow already managed to get a fuchsia coloured blob of paint stuck to the dark blue material.

"I know," he sighed somewhat mournfully. "But suddenly everything looks different, I suppose, because there might be a grain of truth whereas once the scales had been filled with lies." He sighed again, letting go of the spot and stretching himself out, resting his feet on top of the artist's low table. "Everything that's meant to hurt her hurts me." Here his look turned wistful and melancholy, and Volney resisted the urge to snort. "I want it to, you know?"

"Know what?"

"I want everything to hurt me instead of her. To protect her like that."

"How do you know that getting yourself hurt wont hurt her?" Volney snapped back, but Numair didn't seem to be listening. Instead he was now staring at the roof, his eyes gone from sad to dreamy in a second.

Volney only hated two things in life, and that was being ignored and being ignored in favour of someone else. So Volney jabbed him in the knee with a paintbrush.

"Oww! What did you do that for?!"

"Do what for?"

The master glared and Volney grinned, patting the man on the knee before returning to his painting. "I'll get your pretty picture of your pretty girl to you," he promised.

"Whose pretty picture of a pretty girl?"

Horrified, Numair turned to see Daine standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised at the two men.

"Erm…how long have you been there?" Numair stuttered as Volney went over to usher the girl in and down next to her Master.

Daine pursed her lips at him, looking between both men suspiciously. "Not too long," she admitted. "But long enough to know that you're getting a painting done of somebody." Here her expression turned sly. "Who is it?" shed asked, watching her tall friend squirm under her gaze.

"No one."

"M-hmm." The Wildmage turned to the other man, but for once in his life Volney had his lips clamped shut. Literally. He was pinching both thin appendages tightly together, his eyes scrunched tightly together and shaking his head as though it was causing him great pain to be doing these things.

It was.

Daine harrumphed. "Fine, don't tell me then."

Numair also harrumphed. "Fine, we wont."

Volney continued to pinch his lips together, grinding his teeth.

"I'll find out who it is," the girl promised.

"You do that."

"I will."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Al-Volney, would you please get up off the floor? Why don't you tell us about the painting behind you? That's the one the queen commissioned herself, isn't it?"

Volney got up off the floor and straightened his clothes, twirling his goatee once more and flashing the pair a grin as he pointed out the mastery of his skill and all the finer details he had included.

Gossip was all good and well, but Volney loved to preen over his work and Numair knew it, damn the man.

Ah well, Volney thought as Numair smirked at him. I'll send him his portrait with a bouquet of roses, and a nice pretty locket to boot. See if he likes that.

If either the Wildmage or the Master thought it was odd when their friends started to laugh a tad maniacally during the conversation neither mentioned it.

Volney was an odd one, after all.

End

Well tadaa. That was an odd fic and im not sure if I even liked it, but I just had to get it out. Daine/Numair here, cos they rock. And I just had to type up a Volney piece, cos that's something to deserves to be questioned. Ive never read anyone elses version of a Volney, but for some reason this image came to mind. Instead of a poet soulful artist we have a self obsessed sleazy little short man. I heart him. I hope you do too. Read and review, or comment at my journal! 


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